


Stealth Run

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (with follow-through), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Dean pervs on Sam, Discovery Risk, Don't copy to another site, Episode Tag, Exhibitionist Fantasy, M/M, Mild Breathplay, Post-Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Referenced Past Underage, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sneaky Sex, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: War room’s full of refugees—Mom’s people, drinking to their harrowing escape—otherwise, Dean’d stroll over there and shove Sam face-down on that console.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 197





	Stealth Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/gifts).



> For [nisaki-chan](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/), on a rainy night, because reasons. Thank you to [samshinechester](https://amshinechester.tumblr.com/), for tidying this mess. Love and fortune to you both! ♥
> 
> Inspired by [this post](https://koortega.tumblr.com/post/173802944218/a-work-of-art).

Ain’t fair, Sam looking like that: draped on an instrument panel in a dirty sweatshirt, sipping on good whiskey from good crystal and he tips his glass, tips his chin and Dean goes molten. All these years and one look from that lanky fucker gets him springing a halfie.

War room’s full of refugees—Mom’s people, drinking to their harrowing escape—otherwise, Dean’d stroll over there and put Sam face-down on that console.

_Strip him. Spin and spread him. Split his cheeks and rub his hole until it gives, make him squirm and hiss. One knee. Nose inside Sam's thigh, mouth on his taint. Sammy’d step back, arch high and wriggle, invitation._

Dean fakes sociability. “Yup,” he says. “Uh-huh,” and “Hell yeah.”

_Tongue pressed against familiar skin._

Refills glasses. Raises toasts.

_Face full of Sam. Pitchy, needy sounds and shaky legs. Circles. Flicks and pokes and rippled licks. Hands. Fondling, Sam’s sack, his shaft, his head. Precome._

Somebody’s thanking him. “…really pulled our chestnuts off the fire, man.”

_Sam takes his fingers easy, just on spit._

Dean mumbles something about the job.

_“Fuck me, Dean. Come on. I can take it.”_

And he begs off, slinks away to rub one out in his room before he humiliates himself. He cleans up after, wipes down with a shirt from the hamper, washes his hands and face and vows revenge. Soon as this party dies down, he’s gonna get a hold of Sam and not let go until he's wrecked and begging.

**

Ain’t the first time Dean’s made a stealth run to Sam’s room. They’ve kept Mom in the dark, far as Dean knows, same as they did Dad, ever since Sammy was jailbait. Cas knows; he has to, but they don’t talk about it, and Dean plays along like it’s a secret out of respect.

He heads down the deserted hallway. Celebration’s mostly died down by this hour, but strained laughter and slow jams drift from the archive. Clinked glasses, hushed voices— _To the fallen_ —Dean knows that tone. He slips through Sam’s door, closes it without a sound.

“Took you long enough.”

Dean turns. Sam’s propped against his headboard, one arm tucked behind his head, dick in his hand. Dean twists the lock, quiet, takes off his clothes and orders Sam, “Spread ’em.”

Sam squints, bites his lip like he’s gonna argue then his mask breaks. Hollow eyes. Red still reflected there.

Dean says, “We got him, man; we got both those fuckers.” Vamps all over Sam, dirt in Dean’s teeth from the road miles…

Sam’s broad chest fills.

“Trust me.” They pulled through.

Sam scoots down, Dean posts up between his bent knees, kneads his thighs. Warm skin, coarse hair tickle Dean’s palms, Sam’s lashes flutter, dick bobs. Dean tilts, lets Sam cradle his face and reel him in, wrap his legs around. Kissing, rocking together. Sam rumbles in his chest and Dean smirks.

“Gotta keep it down, Sammy, we got company.” No joke. Trauma victims, primed to jump at the slightest noise, occupy all the living quarters, some bunked double. “‘Course,” Dean breathes in Sam’s ear, “I ain’t gonna make it easy on you.”

Sam shakes; Dean revels in it, every twitch and wiggle. Sam’s alive, and when he calms, Dean pulls up, gets Sam’s gaze and hooks an eyebrow. Sam nods. 

Lube’s stashed in the nightstand. Dean barely has to roll off to grab it. Sam twists to face him, hooks a knee at his waist; thigh pins him, nose to nose on their sides. Dean slicks his fingers, squirms for an angle. Snakes between Sam’s legs, behind his balls. Cocks rub fevered against Dean’s forearm. Sam curls an arm around Dean’s shoulder, hand behind his head. Dean skates Sam’s hole, slips his fingers in. Stretches. Strokes until Sam’s dick leaks and sweat drips wet between them. Sam breathes ragged and kisses Dean’s forehead, pets his hair. Body trembles, Dean shows no mercy—never lets him build a rhythm, never gives him steady pressure.

Voices, right outside. Last of the party breaking up. Must be a neighbor; footsteps pause and talk persists.

Dean goes deep, worms his fingers and makes Sam shake. Dean grinds back. Sam’s neck cords bulge and eyes squeeze and Dean takes him right to the edge, Sam holding his breath to keep silent.

“You think they’d keep walking?” Dean asks, low, “If they heard all your pretty noises?”

Air rushes out as Sam chokes, moan shaped like a cough.

“What’s-his-name, Jordan, he _digs_ you.” Dean slides in and out. “I bet he’d ear right up to this door. Stroke it through his pants.”

Sam sways into him.

“He’d probably think you’re in here with a girl, right? And be jussst about to waddle off to his room to finish when you say my name.” He locks on Sam’s neck, half a kiss and half a bite.

“God, _Dean_.”

“Just like that,” Dean says. “And now he’s got a problem. Because, he can either feel disgusted, or he’s gotta pick up a new incest kink.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Silence from the hallway. Refugees gone separate ways.

“You think they left?” Dean nods at the door. “Or you think they’re listening?”

Sam clenches, quakes on Dean’s hand.

“Come on.” Dean pulls his fingers out. “Turn over; want you on your side.”

Sam flips, little spoon, and Dean palms up his back, nudges forward. Sam arches.

“Hold yourself open.”

Sam groans.

“Shh. Doin’ so good.”

Tremor. Dean waits while it passes, pushes in and Sam swivels, draws him deeper. Shining skin and flexing spine and Dean gets Sam by the hip, pulls flush. Sam swears, full-voiced.

“Gonna get us caught, Sammy,” Dean murmurs.

Sam shivers.

“Get on your knees. You can yell in the pillows.”

Sam shoots him a glare, but the heat’s the hungry kind.

Dean gets behind him, drives back in. Sam’s hips kick, he grips and thrashes. Dean fucks, drags it out. Paradise. Scalding, squeezing. Sam huffs quiet moans, but they’re picking up, and Dean says, “Flatten out, c’mon, on your stomach,” and he slides an arm around, underneath Sam. Clamps a hand on Sam’s mouth.

“Sammy, I wanted to bend you over in front of all of ’em.” Dean rakes teeth on Sam’s shoulder.

Muffled grunts and Sam nips at his fingers.

Dean growls. “Mark what’s mine.” He pinches Sam’s nose shut, hints at cutting off his air and Sam locks up. Dean gasps, whispers, “You want my load up your ass?” and Sam seizes. Dean reflex-thrusts, grinds Sam on the mattress. Sam fucks back and Dean takes that for a yes.

He pulls Sam back to his knees. Free to breathe, Sam’s chest heaves. Sweat gleams. Dean gets buried; Sam stifles a groan. Devastates him, takes him smooth, squeezes just right, churns, hunts the angle and Dean rides it. Pets Sam’s side and thinks about the sounds he makes, when they’re _alone_ -alone. Sam seizes. Dean rocks in him. Wraps around.

“Hot, little brother,” in Sam’s ear.

Sam constricts.

Dean jams in him. “Come on my cock,” and he strokes, jerks Sam five, six times against his thrusts and the neighbors might actually hear Sam’s roar, even through the pillows. Clenching insides drag Dean over and he locks his mouth on. Pours his own screams into bruises, teeth and fingers. Sam collapses. Dean pounds, batters Sam until their balls are empty.

Sam shakes.

Dean kisses, soothes the red marks on Sam’s back.

Heartbeats slow.

“Dean?”

He slides off.

Sam faces him. “That was…”

“Yeah.” Dean runs a hand up Sam’s breastbone, stops at his shoulder. Adam’s apple stubble rasps Dean’s thumb. Sex hair. Scrapes and bruises he picked up, post-resurrection. “I was coming back for you.” He meets Sam’s eyes.

“I know.”

“Cas had to drag me outta that cave in the first pl—”

“I know.”

“And I don’t care how much those… those rebel hunters need babysitting; I’m not—”

“Dean, I know.” Sam grips his chin. Eyelashes and forehead wrinkles and beauty marks Dean could kiss in the dark. “I know.”

Dean pulls Sam in.

**Author's Note:**

> [fic on tumblr](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/613708179839336449/stealth-run)


End file.
